May 2026 | Awe

This past month we were all powerfully reminded that our anxieties and arrogance are not visible from space. As we worried about our next deadline or a small conflict with another person, Artemis 2 astronauts were capturing images from 380,000 km away, from a perspective that most of us will never have. These scientists were themselves experiencing a neurological rupture, a cognitive shift known as ‘The Overview Effect’. This is not just a romantic sense of beauty, but a rewiring of the brain. Seeing things that we don’t normally see. Seeing things from a different perspective. Our brains have difficulty processing something so spectacular and surreal. However, our mind gradually opens to new possibilities.

The astronauts reported that, while borders and nations and belief systems, things that divide us, seem so real and tangible to us, from above these lines are illusory. Former Astronaut Ron Garan observed that although we believe ourselves to be chaotic and individualistic, from above we appear as one single biological organism with only one single physical reality. Human self-importance is crushed from this perspective. We are both fragile and unified.

Psychologists tell us that we can access smaller experiences of this existential enlightenment without leaving earth. By gazing at an ocean or mountain view or visiting a sacred space or sitting in meditation we are reminded that we are part of a whole, something larger than ourselves. In doing so we transcend some of the artificial boundaries of our own mind. We discover that our anxieties, jealousies, rivalries and inflated arrogance are meaningless when seen against the larger perspective.

In this issue of Sivananda Yoga Sandesha we explore a sense of Awe. Experiences which we don’t have words for. We share the story of Arjuna’s Vishvarup Darshan, or view of the universal form of Krishna. We visit the Brihadeeswara Temple in Thanjavur, Tamil Nadu and a view of its spectacular 80-tonne capstone, from above. We share Swami Sivananda’s words on Beauty, and what he calls “Brush Yoga”. We get a digitally created view of the interior of the cell. We also share a personal reflection on how we get to ‘do’ the practices that are difficult for us, by allowing a feeling of respect and awe for our own bodies. As usual, please feel free to reach out to us with your thoughts and feedback at: [email protected]

These snapshots were taken at various events around India last month: a retreat organised by the Dwarka Centre took their students to the Netala Ashram and to Swamiji’s cave in Gangotrii; Kids’ & Teens’ Camps held at the Gudur Ashram; Vishu celebrations and work progressing on the parking area in Chennai; and of numerous celebrations at the Neyyar Dam Ashram, including Vishu, poojas for the Raja Rajeswari Temple anniversary, Kids’ Camp.

Images are currently circulating on social media of cells in vivid colour and detail, with many wondering if they are real photographs. The images are actually 3D computer generated illustrations of a eukaryotic cell, found in humans but also in animals, plants, and fungi. The images were created by the Harvard Medical School Center for Molecular & Cellular Dynamics together with a science imaging company Digizyme. They are intended to better help people to understand cell components. Since a photograph at this tiny scale would not be possible, these images allow us to see what our eye cannot. See an interactive version of the image at the following website:

https://www.digizyme.com/cst_landscapes.html

Photo: Digizyme

May 1 – Full Moon
May 13 – Ekadasi
May 16 – New Moon
May 27 – Ekadasi
May 31 – Full Moon

A more personal reflection on how we get to “do” the practices that are difficult for us, and a relaxation focused on feeling awe and respect for the body and the mind.

 I hope this video is beneficial for your practice and teaching. With best wishes for your yoga practice! Pranams.

Swami Sivananda has said, “Air rushes in where there is vacuum. Absolute rushes in where there is no ego.” Brihadeeswara Temple, evocative of this sentiment, is on my list. I haven’t been there yet. But the more I read about it, the more curious I am, I feel it’s more layered, beyond the architecture perhaps?

The temple stands on the south bank of the Cauvery River in Thanjavur, Tamil Nadu, the ancient capital of the Chola Empire. The temple is dedicated to Lord Shiva and is one of the largest temples in the world. It is considered the highest expression of Dravidian Tamil architecture. Built by Rajaraja I who ruled from 985 to 1014 CE/AD. The Chola empire stretched across South India, Sri Lanka, the Maldives and into Southern Asia. The temple was constructed within six to seven years, 1003CE-1010 CE/AD which was a remarkable feat.

He called it Dakshina Meru, the southern meru, because its towering pyramidal structure was designed to represent the mythical Mount Meru. In Hindu tradition, Mount Meru is the sacred centre of the universe, the mythological golden mountain and the axis around which all existence revolves (the meeting point of heaven and earth). In Sanskrit, Dakshina means south, and Meru means the cosmic mountain; in a way, he was placing the sacred centre in Tamil Nadu, a home for the divine.

“In this very life, seek the summit. Pray. Surrender. Our will is only a drop. God’s grace is like the ocean.” ~ Swami Vishnudevananda

The vimana (sacred tower) is 216 feet high and is a hollow structure made entirely of granite. It is the tallest of its kind in the world. The Chola engineers ingeniously used two parallel walls connected by slabs to distribute the structure’s weight without it collapsing under its own weight. If the tower were solid, it would have been too heavy for its foundation and would have either sunk into the ground or cracked under its own weight. The hollow structure also creates a resonance chamber. Inside the sounds of ritual and songs are amplified by the void of the vimana, creating a spiritual atmosphere that seems to emanate from the very top of the symbolic mountain.

No mortar (cement-like paste) has been used. Every stone is interlocked and fitted so precisely that the temple has survived six earthquakes over a thousand years without moving. A mathematical feat, considering there were no computers or any simulation software, and yet the Cholas in the 11^th century managed to build this tower with a slope so precise that it narrows perfectly to the top to accommodate an 80-tonne capstone.

Historians estimate that the nearest granite quarry was 60km from the site. Over 130,000 tonnes of stone, moved entirely by human hands, without a single machine, moved by sheer human will and devotion.

At the top of that tower rests a single capstone—an 80-tonne rock. How they managed to lift it without cranes, machinery, or clear records remains a mystery. Some historians say elephants and human strength, ropes and perhaps an ancient pulley system; others suggest an inclined ramp built from a nearby village, a gentle slope, allowing the stone to be dragged gradually to the top. No easy task.

The great Nandi, Shiva’s bull, is carved from a single stone, 16 feet wide and over 20 tonnes, crafted so precisely and masterfully that it appears to be floating. In the corner of the temple, pillars that, when struck, produce musical notes- stones tuned like an instrument; sound perfection achieved a thousand years before modern acoustics existed.

The inner walls depict frescoes, and in the inner sanctum of the temple, a place that was never meant to be seen by the public, hold detailed frescoes. These walls were hidden behind a 16^th-century layer of Nayak-style paintings for hundreds of years, remaining untouched. When they were uncovered, historians found something unexpected: a depiction of Rajaraja I and his guru, Karuvur Devar, in scenes that feel more like ‘behind the scenes’ snapshots than official royal portraits. The painters used a ‘wet fresco’ technique, applying pigment to wet plaster, requiring incredible speed. Depictions of dancers and celestial beings feel as if they were painted from direct observation. Some depict events found in no known historical text. As if the painters were painting things only, they could see. There are scenes showing Shiva as Dakshinamurti (the cosmic teacher) surrounded by animals and sages. The animals’ expressions are soulful, almost human, as if the painter were trying to convey a specific, shared consciousness that isn’t mentioned in standard scriptures.

It is said that beneath the temple, secret underground passages exist, sealed and unexplored due to safety concerns and a lack of proper mapping. It is believed that these tunnels connect the temple to other sacred sites, and that one tunnel connects directly to the Thanjavur Royal Palace. This may have allowed the Chola royalty to travel between the palace and the sanctum for private rituals or to escape during invasions without moving through the city. These tunnels were built with a labyrinthine design. If intruders entered the wrong tunnel, they would not find their way out, and an effective security system was carved into the earth for the kingdom. Some sealed passages are believed to contain rare scripts, treasure chests, and confidential royal manuscripts that have never been officially excavated or documented.

The inscription on the outer walls is unlike anything else from the ancient world. Not decoration, not mythology, but a living record carved in stone for all to see. The inscriptions are like a transparent logbook documenting the social, cultural and political life of the entire civilization: a detailed personnel directory of over 600 temple employees, dancers, musicians, barbers, tailors, etc., each listed by name, along with addresses and daily allotment of grains for their service. Records of asset inventory, the donations Rajaraja I made, including the exact weights of the gold, silver, and copper vessels gifted to the deity were also recorded. It also documents more than 56 villages, detailing taxable land, tax-free areas, etc. Detailed operating manual, dictating how many lamps to be lit, precise amount of ghee required, etc.

In an era when most empires ruled through shadow and secrecy–and many still do–the Cholas chose transparency. Brihadeeswara Temple was their public record, communicating that their power was built on documentation, precision, public trust, and transparency. Nothing was hidden (except the secret tunnels underneath), creating their own version of ‘open source’, carved in granite a thousand years ago.

It is said that at noon, each day, the vimana cast no shadow on the ground. The empire that hid nothing; the tower that holds its shadow within. Close your eyes for a moment to imagine: It’s noon, the sun is directly overhead, with a thousand-year-old tower of granite rising above you, and no shadow on the ground. The shadow exists but falls back upon the tower itself. The tower absorbs its own darkness. Like the ego in deep stillness. Not gone but no longer casting itself outward. This is the teaching, documented in their inscriptions, embodied in their architecture, perfect in their geometry. It is written on the walls, built into the tower and at noon, dissolved in light. Swami Sivananda said, “When shall I be free? When ‘I’ cease to be.” Perhaps another way of saying the same thing, and the vimana at noon is both.

All of these elements call to me: the frescoes, the floating Nandi, the musical pillars, the sealed passages, and the inscriptions still speaking after a thousand years. I haven’t been there, yet my curiosity has only deepened. I was right. There are layers far beyond the architecture. That is the nature of awe; it doesn’t wait for you to arrive. I cannot wait to stand there and witness this firsthand.

The Brihadeeswara Temple has been an active place of worship since 1010 CE. It is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, beautifully maintained and well worth visiting, approximately three hours from our Madurai Ashram. Every February around the time of Maha Shivaratri, the Brahan Naty Anjali festival fills its courtyard with classical dance offered as prayers.

We often use the word “awe” casually, applying it to a vibrant sunset, a remarkable performance, or a grand mountain vista. But in its truest sense, awe is far deeper and considerably more unsettling. Psychologists describe it as the feeling that arises when we encounter something so vast or profound that our ordinary ways of understanding no longer seem sufficient, a moment that demands not just wonder but a fundamental shift in how we see the world. While modern science is only now mapping this terrain, the Bhagavad Gita captured the phenomenon thousands of years ago with remarkable psychological precision.

On the battlefield of Kurukshetra, Arjuna, the celebrated warrior, stands paralysed not by fear of the enemy but by a deeper crisis of duty and identity. In his desperation for clarity, he asks Krishna to reveal His true divine nature. Krishna’s response is a warning as much as a gift: ordinary sight cannot receive what is about to be shown. He grants Arjuna divine eyes, and what follows is the Vishvarupa Darshan, the revelation of the Universal Form. What Arjuna beholds resists easy description: a presence without beginning or end, filled with countless faces, celestial powers, and a radiance like a thousand suns rising at once. The entire universe, usually experienced as scattered, separate, and manageable, is suddenly gathered into one living, overwhelming whole.

Arjuna’s reaction is not one of rejoicing but of trembling. He is overcome, humbled, and eventually afraid, pleading with Krishna to return to the gentle, human form he knows and loves. It is one of the most psychologically honest moments in all of sacred literature, because real awe is rarely comfortable. It unsettles before it uplifts, drawing us beyond the narrow circle of self-concern and inviting us, however briefly, to see from a wider horizon.

This is what makes the episode feel so relevant today. Many of us move through life absorbed in its smallness, in worries, plans, and private struggles that can feel utterly consuming. Awe interrupts that pattern. It does not erase difficulty, but it reorients us, reminding us that reality is larger than our fears and richer than the stories we keep telling ourselves.

Krishna Visvarupa

The Gita, however, goes beyond psychology alone. Krishna makes clear that this vision cannot be reached through intellect or effort alone, but through devotion and surrender. The episode is therefore not simply about the cosmic scale; it is also about the limits of human knowledge and the humility that begins when those limits are finally recognised.

Perhaps the most vital insight is what the vision does not do. It does not remove the battle Arjuna still has to fight, nor does it remove the most difficult moment of his life he must still face. What changes is how he stands within it. By witnessing the Infinite, he moves from paralysis and despair to clarity and trust. That is awe’s quiet gift to all of us, not escape or easy answers, but a shift in perspective wide enough to make the next step possible and a heart steady enough to take it.